Let’s get rid of the newspapers, the unopened mail, your key chain (which doesn’t belong on the table in the first place), the magazine you were reading this morning and that retarded salt and paper shaker you bought while on vacation to Niagara Falls in 2002 (I’ve always hated those anyway).

Is the table clear?

I have to be honest here, the image selection for ‘clear table’ left a lot to be desired. It was mostly images of clear tables. So here’s a semi-naked chick saying fuck off. Win, win right? (Photo credit: I found this while drunk and forget where)

Good.

Now to be clear myself (because I guess I wasn’t very clear) I’d like to state clearly the following.

I do not support gun control.

There I feel better. Does that clear anything up? Maybe not because if the comments and emails I’ve received are any indication, I can’t make a point to save my life.

What the fuck? The, poorly penned perhaps, update was me saying to the pro-gun control people, ‘gun control’ shouldn’t be on the table and even if it is you cannot win the argument.

If we assume (and it’s a bit of leap I grant) that pro gun control people are, for the most part, liberal and also favor such things as equal marriage rights for LBGT individuals, better nationalized (Obamacare) health care and every other left-leaning, ‘suck at the state’s tit while hard working Republicans pay for it program there is’ then that blog update was a plea for all of us to collectively shut the fuck up about gun control because to argue for it expends political capital in the manner that a problem gambler spends money in Vegas.

I really need to do a better job with photo credits. Not idea where I found this …

You’re not going to win the argument and you’ll spend vast resources trying to the defeat it all the while giving away the things you could have here and now. It’s pointless, stupid and hurts only you in other words.

To anyone still in favor of current gun control policy that is still with me, I repeat, we should leave guns alone.

To anyone desiring stricter gun-control laws stay with me please.

Here’s part of my point lefties, and I’m with you on like 99% of our ideals, I just break away on this one. I don’t break away because I think it’s a good idea that America be an armed society but rather because I see that this cannot be stopped. Even if it is stopped, as I said before, with 220 million guns out there the minute you outlaw guns in America, only outlaws will have guns. It will be, at a minimum, 50-years of chaos that will make24 dead kindergartners look like a Sunday morning bake sale.

This next part kind of sucks, and I honestly thought long and hard about writing it, but at the end of the day it’s 24 kids and it makes a good news story.

What’s the tired phrase, if it bleeds it leads?

It’s a kind of a popular defense for gun-right activists to say, “if the media would stop reporting these tragedies the way they do they wouldn’t happen.” Indicating that the psychopaths that do them wouldn’t end up being infamous if no one talked about them and I guess at a base level they’re right but the media is a business and I for one cannot fault them for pushing what sells.

Hell that’s been the norm sense the Romans pitted the Christians against the lions and sold out the Coliseum.

Right or wrong, it sells.

And who are we to fuck with business, free markets always being ‘right’ and all.

Which leaves us with, it’s us.

Perhaps there is some Westborough Baptist Church solution here? Maybe we all, pro- gun control and gun-rights advocates, could organize and collectively pee on the graves of each shooter on their death day as a sort of ‘fuck you, you’re not famous’ protest’. Would the media cover it and if they did how cool would that be, news footage of all of us peeing on graves of mass-murderers, I’m laughing about the blurring they’ll have to do right now.

But that wouldn’t work either, not really.

This is a stupid argument … Unless it isn’t.

I also had this great, I mean it was great, argument about why the ‘ban cars because they kill more people than guns’ argument was stupid.

But as stupid as it is, it’s not really that stupid at all.

Damn it.

What those on the gun control side of the argument think their hearing when the gun right advocates say that is, “well this thing kills more people than guns so let’s ban it even though we know no one will!”

But the reality of the message is, “both of these technologies are here to stay, banning one is as pointless as banning the other and again, neither are going anywhere.”

Because, as I said before, 220 million fucking guns, that we know of.

Let me end this as I (tried) to start it.

Leave gun rights alone. I have friends that own guns. I have family that owns guns and I even enjoy shooting guns. Ninety-nine point nine percent of gun owners are lawful and responsible gun owners. A general ban on guns will only tear this country apart in a way not seen since the 1860s and gun ownership is a pointless point to do that again.

Besides being a place where I’m told to ‘like’ a photo of Jesus or God will kill a puppy, Facebook is the number one place I go on the Internet because, as science tell us, I’m an idiot.

While the fact that Facebook annoys roughly 98.7% of its users at any given moment is a great reason for a future (and past) HAFB post, it’s not the reason I’m writing this today.

I’m writing this to talk to all my friends on the left about gun control. But not in the way you think I’m going to.

Nope.

I’m writing this to say, calm the fuck down and let’s leave the right’s guns alone. Not just for now, forever.

Those of you who kind of know me are thinking, “What the hell? This is the last thing we’d expect from you. Your heart bleeds like a stuck pig.”

Those of you who really know me are thinking, “Holy crap he’s drunk out of his mind and likely typing this naked.”

Look. I’m not drunk (but I am naked) and I’m still the liberal you’ve come to know and love.

Here’s the point. There are an unknown number of guns in America. Not 60 quadtrillion or ‘more guns than grains of sand on the beach,’ but an unknown number of guns. Wiki says its like 220 million and the NRA website clearly states there are, “not enough guns.”

Anyway, we have a lot of guns.

Obama, the House and the Senate (not to mention the Supreme Court) aren’t going to pass any laws in the coming months or even years outlawing guns. They’re not.

Guns, my friends, are here to fucking stay.

So what are they, the government, going to do? Who knows? An assault weapons ban is my guess, but more likely it’s going to be more restrictions on who can buy weapons and how they can be bought.

Which is bullshit.

I can’t put that into terms that are clearer with any less swearing. It’s bullshit, plain and simple.

Most people who own and buy guns are — get this folks — law-abiding citizens who will sigh and endure whatever extra steps the government puts into place before they can buy their next gun.

Then, and here’s the fun part, there will still be an unknown (or 220 million, you pick) number of guns in America.

What I’m trying to say is — the barn door has been opened but the cat has left the bag and the building is still devoid of Elvis.

It’s really too late.

Even if we, through some miracle I cannot fathom, amend the constitution, there’s still a crap-ton of guns out there. Even if an amendment is passed and the efforts of the U.S. government and the people are monumental in turning in guns – we’re still fucked because there is a shit-ton of guns.

The cliché at that point becomes true: When guns are outlawed, only outlaws have guns.

You know why most other westernized (a bullshit categorization if ever there was one) nations have very small amounts of gun violence? It’s because, wait for it, they never had 220 million guns in the first fucking place.

None of this says anything about the percentage of the population that takes the statement, “you can take my gun from my cold dead hand” into account … at least a percentage of the people posting that on Facebook or their rear bumper mean it.

If you think 26 dead at a Connecticut grade school was bad, oh boy are you in for an eye opener. These diehards will make that look like a trip to Disneyland.

Why do I say that? How can I say that with such certainty? Can I offer you 220 million reasons why?

Look, as I said, I am a liberal crybaby of the highest magnitude. I am. I do someday want to see an America (mostly*) free of gun violence, and I fully realize that the only way to do that is to get rid of guns. But it will have to be cautious, rationed steps that get us there.

And here’s the nut of the problem, it’s has to be a solution that gun rights advocates agree to also. Any other solution is dead, dead, dead. Kinda of like those kids, dead is dead after all.

There is a segment of the population that feels they need a gun in their homes for protection. I disagree only because statistically said gun is much more likely to cause the owner harm than save him, but again there are 220 million fucking guns out there.

I, at least, see and understand the logic, I disagree with it, but I do see and understand it. I won’t have a gun in my house because statically I’ll more likely be shot by my wife during a spell of extraordinarily bad beer farts, than not. But again, your risk. If you feel safer with a gun in your house and you’re a responsible owner, more power to you.

Hunters have no fear. I know your kind and I love you all like brothers. I’ve never hunted a day in my life but I’d hunt if you’d take me tomorrow.

Hunting, not prostitution, is the oldest profession. It’s not today, not tomorrow, not ever, in danger.

Here’s the deal my lefty friends, and here’s my point my right-leaning buds: The problem will literally take care of itself. More of these school massacres and more and more of you will come to the table to discuss this without the teeth gnashing and the political yelling. The founding fathers couldn’t have envisioned smokeless powder, let alone assault rifles, and there’s nothing well-regulated at all about untold numbers of lead-spitting tubes out there.

We will come to terms. Those of you who insist on keeping a handgun at home

AR15 and 870 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

will be able to, those of you who enjoy hunting will (as always) be able to continue hunting, and eventually the number — slowly mind you and not in our lifetimes — of weapons on the street will diminish. Technology, we can hope, will play a role but I think it will be more a matter of our society shifting slowly in that direction. No one needs an AR-15 but, if they enjoy firing one as a hobby, surely there is no reason they cannot check them out at the local firing range before use — and of course check them back in when finished?

Maybe the people posting thing such as “like if you love Jesus, scroll past if you don’t,” have a point. Perhaps these 1217 words would have been better spent with a simple photo and a catchy phrase, but fuck if I can tell what those words would be.

Finally, to anyone left of the well, left still reading this, we were on the cusp of some really, really big victories. Gay-marriage rights are on the table. Making Obamacare better is on the table. And we’ve pushed Boehner’s back so close the fiscal cliff he is asking us to hold his fucking hands for balance. With a disjointed GOP, let’s not spend the political capital we have right now on gun control. We might as well buy a shit-ton of lottery tickets.

I have a confession to make. The wife and I haven’t done a no-crap-let’s-exchange-gifts Christmas since ever.

OK, not since, well, when the hell did we last do that?

Basically we suck at Christmas.

It’s not like we want to suck at Christmas. I think we want to excel at Christmas. But there’s all that work that goes along with that idea. You have to put up a tree, there are lights that have to be hung, someone has to buy gifts, said gifts have to be wrapped and then, for the love of god, someone (and that someone ain’t me) has to cook a proper Christmas dinner and who the hell knows where to find, let alone how to kill and clean a fucking goose.

Let me be clear, if this was Dickens’ Christmas Carol I’d be Scrooge telling Tiny Tim, “Dude, we’ll stop at McDonald’s on the way home and yes, you can have the Happy Meal. Hell Merry Christmas, supersize it, man!”

We just barely do it, she and I. Christmas, I mean of course.

We both have fond memories of Christmas as kids though.

I remember clearly opening a Six Million Dollar Man action figure (played by Lee Majors) on Christmas day that had a super-punch arm and a telescopic eye that you looked through via the back of his head, and I loved it.

;

My loving wife, enjoying the holiday spirit.

Dagmar remembers getting her first bicycle. She described the memory thusly:

“It was a fucking bicycle you fucking idiot. Who the fuck doesn’t get excited about their first fucking bicycle? You’re working my last nerve. I’m leaving. I’m going to watch TV. You’re a fucking idiot.”

So, there’s that.

But this year, this year is in fact different, her tirade notwithstanding.

We put up a tree, and not that piece of crap twisted, carted around for the last eight years in a box deformed Gollum looking fake-tree either. Nope, this year we purchased a likely to kill us, honest to shit, fire hazard of a tree.

Its on fire at this very moment, in fact.

Besides the fact that -its constantly on fire, the cat constantly fucks with it, it always (always, always) needs water and it spits off needles like I drink beer – its great.

Seriously, I have sap on my fingers while I’m typppppping this.

Mmmm, fresh pine smell though, can’t beat it.

So, here we are, two individuals without kids — and let’s be honest here, this whole thing is about kids. Yeah, yeah someone was born during this time (he wasn’t), yeah, yeah let’s be thankful (no one does this), yeah, yeah it’s about family (it’s not) — trying to unfuck ourselves just enough to have a good day.

My wife has literally every material thing she wants. If there’s a cookbook that fuses Chinese-Italian with Peruvian gourd cooking, she has it.

I have two remote controlled helicopters that I’ve learned to hate, so that answers my need-to-want ratio nicely I think.

We no longer want is the issue, which leaves us both in odd positions, I think.

Likely I will take her verbal clues entirely too literally, “What? You said you wanted a toenail straightener!” and I will be left saying, “Yes I love video games, but really, who the fuck ever bought My Little Ponies’ Shopping Adventure for a man?”

If we’re alive come Christmas day, If we are alive, I hope you all have an awesome Christmas.

Because I’ve been inspired by a fellow blogger who’s been nominated for an award (more about this in a moment) I think I’d like to take this update and give something educational and cultural to you, the reader. Maybe someday with more updates like this it might become readers. But let’s not hold our breath.

One of the great things about the holiday season in Europe and specifically Germany is something called gluhwein. Gluhwein is of course wine heated up and spiced. There are two ways that I know of that you can acquire gluhwein and a third way that you should never, ever, ever attempt (I don’t think it’s actually a method through which anyone has ever successfully acquired gluhwein – it’s kind of like that really hard quest at the end of a video game) to get some.

These would be a lot more enjoyable in July with a glass of cold beer. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The first is to visit one of Germany’s numerous Christmas markets. As it’s really cold here right now you can enjoy a cup while the wife wanders off looking at shiny things. They even serve them in holiday mugs which I think every wife that’s ever visited a German market instantly refuses to return to the stand from which it was purchased and years later asks ‘where the hell did all these fucking mugs come from?”

That’s the first way. The second way, my preferred method, is to buy it already bottled in the store and then heat it in a sauce pan and enjoy in stolen* market mugs near a nice fire. Provided your spouse can locate the dozens of mugs she has squirreled away.

The third, attempt let’s call it, is to ask a German, any German how to make it. You take some wine, some sugar (of which I guess there are about 45 million types suitable for this purpose), some cloves, 14 oranges, 12 lemons, elk meat (raw), tears from a child, and who knows what else. I promise during each and every description of how they make gluhwein you’re mind will eventually wander away.

I mean I’m glad that the nation is proud of their homemade gluhwein recipes but for the love of god stop ear raping me with your stories of the different kinds of cinnamon sticks you use to stir the wein or wine but you knew that.

So see I was helpful for once!

Okay, okay I know I wasn’t helpful but honestly what were you expecting from a blog called, had a few beers? Yeah I thought so.

In the past I’ve asked you for things and some of you have even come through! Although my call for photos of your (well the fairer sex of you anyway) cleavage on my birthday came up a bit short I mean like only one of you participated!

But this time I’m hoping you can take a moment to go to this website here and vote for the blog, ‘Oh God My Wife is German” as the best expatriate blog. I say

Consider it your patriotic duty (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

with all sincerity it’s a VERY funny blog. That aside the author was very helpful to yours truly when I first stated blogging (he even linked to me and in fact still does from his blog roll– thanks dude!). So I’m hoping we can in some way help push him over the top so I can say, I’m linked to by the award winning, Oh God My Wife is German, blog!

I’m going to insert the instruction he gives his readers on how to vote because let’s face it, if I try to describe the process you’ll all end up at some website like ratemyrack.com wondering where the funny blog is.

One more thing though. Voting ends December 14th so umm, you basically have to do this right now … go, go do it!

4. I know it sucks to give out your email address. I did it already, and I know I can unsubscribe from Expats Blog whenever I want. If you are uncomfortable with the email address part, don’t even worry about it; just keep reading our blog and know how much we appreciate your time and attention!

5. If you don’t care about the email address part and you actually leave us a good vote? THANK YOU! If our blog wins, we’ll likely write a special post to thank you for your time!

Thanks!

* They’re not actually stolen, when you ‘buy’ a mug of wine you pay a deposit on the mug, usually a euro or two. If you want to keep the mug you just forfiet the ‘fond’ as they call it.

Actually if you want some real information about Mulled Wine/Gluhwein and Christmas markets here’s a few links that might actually be helpful.

Having just moved into a new house I am currently enjoying a fun and exciting (read crappy and boring) 90-minute drive to work and another 90-minute drive home.

This craptastic situation has about zero point zero percent chance of improving in the near future. Fortunately, almost all of this driving in on German autobahns which means you can drive like a madman through like at least the two kilometers of autobahn not currently under construction.

The rest of the time I’m stuck driving 80 kph with lots and lots of cursing by your’s truly.

Like this, only with words(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Thankfully there are podcasts. Thankfully, because I fully realize that even just a few years ago the time in the car would have been filled with loud, loud music. But I’m older (none the wiser), balder and becoming my father because if I could, I’m sure it’d be tuned to AM talk radio …

One of my favorites podcasts was and is Mike Duncan’s The History of Rome. Mike starts with the founding of the city and ends with the fall of the Western Empire. If you haven’t yet listened to it I encourage you to do so. Spanning 189

episodes its a great podcast that really delivers in an engaging way, with countless hours on the Roman Empire. Duncan not only excels at extracting the interesting tidbits from Livy and other ancient historians but boils down the narrative into digestible half-hour chunks.

The only bad thing I can think to say about it is that it ended.

] Roman Forum and surroundings (Photo credit: KayYen)

When the Western Empire collapses Duncan tells us that he is going to move on to another project.

If you’re interested in giving The History of Rome a try you can do so here. I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I have.

Fortunately another podcaster picked up where Duncan left off. The History of Byzantium is hosted by Robin Pierson (an American TV critic) and aims to keep the History of Rome’s style intact as he takes us from the downfall of the Western Empire through the Byzantium rise and eventual fall.

Having only started in May, the show has published just 15 episodes thus far, but having listened to them all I can tell you that Pierson does indeed succeed in capturing Duncan’s style while lending his own touches and flair.

If you, as I, loved The History of Rome give The History of Byzantium a spin.

That’s it for today.

We’re still unpacking, there’s no cable television and my porn … err, I mean, my Internet isn’t working yet, so again sorry for the lack of updates. But I promise you, as soon as the magic interwebz are active in the new house we’ll be back to drunken rants, foul language and, of course, boobs.

Winter, in Germany at least, is here. Snow has blanketed (and since melted) much of the Baden-Wurttenberg area, kids are sledding down hills or making snowmen and there’s the smell of lit fireplaces in the air.

And that last part, the part about the smell of fireplaces just a’blazin, is the only good thing that I can say about this wretched time of year. Because fire = heat and I’m all about the heat.

I mean look at it, everything’s grey and you have to dress up like the Michelin man just to walk to the fucking mail box.

And some of you out there claim to actually like this time of year.

You’re sick individuals, you know that? Sick.

In fact it was just last week a coworker confessed to me that this was “his time of year.”

Yeah, well, your time of year sucks. Really it does. What other season requires I freeze my balls off shoveling frozen water flakes out of my driveway? You know what other time that is? It’s the season of never.

I’m not even trying with the photos anymore, this was tagged winter clothes, ladies. Or something.(Photo credit: BiblioArchives / LibraryArchives)

“But I have all these cute winter clothes I can wear,” chicks say a lot. Hey ladies, do you know what kind of outfit we gents find “cute?” It’s the kind where you have next to nothing or nothing on.

You wrapped up in 18 layers just means more work for us if, for some weird reason, we have any desire to get naked when the temperature outside drops lower than Snookies IQ.

Let’s just agree you’re a lot “cuter” in a bikini than snowshoes, and move on OK?

“Oh, but Christmas, Christmas is coming. Gosh I love Christmas,” you say?

“Fuck Christmas, it’s too damn cold out,” I say.

You know what would make Christmas rock? Moving it into June. Seriously, I’m all about getting together with friends and having a great meal and heck I’ll even bring a gift or two, but I’d be a lot more enthusiastic about it if I could do it while wearing shorts and flip-flops.

I know, I know, it’s just a winter festival. That’s basically all Christmas is, a winter festival. Ancient cultures thought, “Holy crap it’s really cold, really dark and the foods about to run out … let’s throw a party!” And that does make sense. The days, which have been getting shorter and shorter are about to get longer again (thankfully) and I for one do at least appreciate that fact.

Did you know that incidents of suicide and spouse/child abuse quadruple in the months of December, January and February?

No, you didn’t?

Well, you’re an idiot then and I’m cranky because it’s fucking snowing. Also I made that quadrupled fact up. For all I know it’s the opposite, but if it’s not true, it should be.

Hang on a moment, I have to go smack my wife because … cold.

She’s likely cute, but would be cuter in a bikini. (Photo credit: a4gpa)

And let’s talk about you skiers and you snowboarders.

All of you should be shot at dawn.

At what fucking point in your lives did strapping shit to your feet and racing down a mountain at bone-breaking speeds in the freezing cold sound like fun?

You fuckers are the worst.

Seriously what are you people thinking? You know what activity is actually fun with things strapped to your feet? Water-skiing, that’s what. At least with water-skiing there’s a slight chance bikini tops will come off when chicks wipe out. What’s the chance of that on snow? Zero point zero percent.

“But, but, but you can drink on the way down the slopes in Europe,” I can hear

Holy crap why are you on a bike? You know we now have cars, with heaters and crap! (Photo credit: xJason.Rogersx)

some of you saying. Like you’ll convince me skiing is cool with that crap. Oh can you? Who cares? It’s cold, you’re likely wet and you’re not even back down the goddamn mountain yet. This is NO time for drinking and trust me I feel that most times are the time for drinking.

Unlike the other ‘facts’ I’ve presented, I can also offer proof that winter sucks.

I predict big wins. Also, like all other polls here, you can vote as many times as you like. Consider it a feature of how strongly you feel about the topic.

Fact: Cold causes shrinkage.

Cracked.com agrees with me by the way and there is no better bastion of scientific fact than cracked.com. Sunlight increases testosterone, according to 1939 science, and if we can’t trust (we can’t) 1939 science then …

Look I just want it to be sunny again.

Anyway, screw you winter. You suck. Jan and Feb are going to suck no doubt but we’re half-way through. You bastard.

We’re all moving, if only in the sense that the earth is spinning and that explains why most of the Facebook comments I read seem to come from someone who’s dizzy. It would also explain many of my own Facebook comments if beer had never been invented.

Thankfully beer was invented, so enough about that.

But I don’t mean that kind of moving.

I mean the kind of moving where you pack up all your filthy crap, put it in a truck and drive it to a new home.

Yeah, that kind of moving – the painful kind of moving.

I know there are many people out there who have moved more than I, but I’ve done my fair share of moving throughout the years and feel fully qualified to say, “moving sucks.”

To be very honest, I’ve have it easy. All the moves of my adult life, with the exception of one, were paid for via your hard-earned taxes. Thank you, America, you rock. Each and every move, either as a service member or as a government worker, has had professional movers associated with it. Strong men, sweating a lot, schlepping boxes of crap Dagmar hasn’t used since ever, into moving vans and then unloading them at the destination.

So to be very honest, some of you who move frequently and do it yourself have it much worse than I do.

But I’m still going to bitch and moan anyway because I can.

It’ll be like this, only with more sweaty eastern European men. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I think there are mental stages of moving. Honestly there are. At least for me there are. Maybe you just wake up one morning and yell out, “HOLY CRAP! HOW’D I GET INTO THIS NEW HOUSE?”

If you’re that person, I look up to you.

For me it’s all this:

Denial: We’re not really moving, I know it SAYS we’re moving, but that’s like in the way distant future. Sure in a month stuff will be chaotic, but right now things are normal. Relax.

Anger: To hell with this crap. I hate it. HATE IT. I used capital letters HATE IT!

Painful acceptance: Fine, fuck it, we’re moving.

The event: Move out day/Move in day

Agony: Months and months of sheer pain and suffering that will follow.

So that’s a fun list isn’t it? Let’s dive right in and swim about in my pool filled with pain.

Denial:

The month before the move, even though I know it’s going to happen, I completely and totally deny it. Part of my brain rebels against the reality of the move. Things are comfortable here at home. The curtains are hung on the windows the way Dagmar likes them, the pictures on the wall have been there so long they likely need to be dusted. And I know exactly where the confectionary sugar is stored in the kitchen.

That last bit is monumental because in just a few month’s time Dagmar will say the following again and again, “You don’t know where anything is do you? Jesus, do you even live here?” This will be uttered while I desperately check every drawer for the fourth time in a row for a spoon.

So yeah. I get why part of my brain rebels and say’s to me, “Relax. Things are okay for now.”

Anger:

“GOD I’M TIRED OF THIS SHIT! Didn’t we just move into a new house like an hour ago? Why do we have to do it again so soon?” I think the anger part is really just a transition to the next painful acceptance phase, but it always cracks me up anyway.

“Damn it, I’m going to have to wash out the grill, take down all the pictures, patch up the holes, hide my extensive collection of 1980’s Madonna porn and figure out what to do with all these fucking plants! And who the hell brought these damned plants anyway? Aren’t most of them poisonous to cats? New fucking rule, no more plants ever!”

It’s a bunch of crap I tell you.

As if I’m shocked it occurs you know? I live and work in a field where moving is expected every three to five years. It’s so commonplace that everyone in my field accepts it. We all bitch about it, but only in roundabout ways. We’ve all become jaded too it.

Painful acceptance:

This phase occurs on a Saturday morning. It occurs usually after a few cups of coffee, typically at about 10 a.m. Its when I drag my, otherwise-happy ass off the couch and start the oh-so-painful process of doing things I don’t want to do.

Again, it’s all about taking things off the walls, rolling up the rugs, unhooking the stereo, deciding where we will hide the cat while the movers are in the house, hiding dead hookers, ensuring the toolbox is in the car and not on the moving van and a lot of other crap you don’t care about.

This phase brutally drills into my head the following fact: Weekends are about to suck. Gone, for at least four months are, weekends that are all about relaxing and chilling out. In their place is a tireless ordeal of moving, sizing, shopping and hanging …

The event:

This is the eye of the moving storm. The strange part that should be painful but really isn’t. When the movers are boxing up the cat and loading the kitchen’s full trashcan into the truck there isn’t much to do other than watch them. That’s really it. OK, I feed them, I usually tip them, but that’s pretty easy and otherwise it’s really pretty much a non-event.

While doing a door-to-door move it’s always the same crew so move in day is no different. Give them something to eat, take care of the boss and then start living in a cardboard forest.

When I poop in the morning, there will be boxes in the bathroom.

My life for the next several weeks, while not at work, will focus on dealing with boxes. Opening boxes, breaking down boxes, stacking boxes, unpacking and yes repacking boxes, moving boxes from room to room, from floor to floor.

I will dream of boxes simply because they cannot be avoided during waking hours.

Boxes.

Agony.

Two or three months after we move into the new house the following will occur: I will be convinced that this weekend, FINALLY THIS WEEKEND, Dagmar and I can just chill out all day and all night both days.

I will be painfully incorrect in this assumption because one of the following events will take place.

Shortly after this photo was taken her husband stabbed her to death. Reason, inability to decide where the fucking towels go. (Photo credit: Meathead Movers)

Everything in the living room is ‘wrong’ and needs to be moved to the third floor of the house. Once there a “decision” will be made by Dagmar that the things in the living room were actually correct in the living room after all and everything will have to be moved back down three flights of stairs.

Ikea

Every photo, painting, wall ornament – if it’s stuck to the wall its game – will have to be moved. Which means even though I just put away the cordless drill, the drill bits, the step ladder, the container with all the items needed to properly mount anything, I’m about to have to drag them back ….

So moving, it sucks. None of this says a damned thing about lack of Internet (which if you don’t hear from me for a while, that’s why) power, television and …